The Doctor's Speaking Tube 




KATHARINE DOORIS-SHARP 



THE DOCTOR'S SPEAKING TUBE 



The Doctor's Speaking 
Tube 



BY 



KATHARINE DOORIS-SHARP 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 
1904 



Copyright 1904 by KATHARINE Dooris-ShaRP 



All Rights Reserved 






LIBRARY of CONtiKtSS 
Two Copies Receivcu 

DEC 19 iyi)4 

* CLiSij ^^ aXu No- 

/^^ s ^^ 



Printed at 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

Boston, U. S. A. 



CONTENTS 

Page. 

The Doctor's Speaking Tube 9 

When May and Flo Went Calling 12 

A Mocking Bird 15 

The Heights of Fame 16 

Keats 18 

When the Elasagnus Blossoms 19 

The Genii .' 21 

Peace 23 

Ivan the Terrible 24 

Columbia Teach Your Sons to War 27 

The Messenger 28 

Praise 29 



THE DOCTOR^S SPEAKING-TUBE 

Now the village doctor was growing grey, 

And the doctor had prospered as doctors may, 

If they join with their practice from day to day, 

A wholesome economy. 
He had traversed the county from end to end, 
And even beyond did his trips extend; 
There was not a by-road and hardly a gate 
Which he had not entered, early or late; 
There was not a tree nor flower that grew. 
Nor silent land-mark, but what he knew; 
And many an hour, in his long night-rides. 
On the face of the starry heavens, besides, 

He studied astronomy. 

'Twas a tedious method of gathering pelf ; 
And the long years made the doctor, himself, 
Through the country, a sort of a land-mark, too. 
As over the smooth roads his fleet horse flew: 
For no one knew horse-flesh better than he, 
And faster than his was a rarity. 

Well, the doctor concluded to build a house 
With a speaking-tube attachment, to rouse 
From his peaceful slumbers, that, nevermore. 
Would he need to descend to his front hall-door. 
When half awake and en deshabille 
And muttering such words as a doctor will. 

So he built a mansion in modern style. 
Where, the very first night, came Micky O'Rile 
In search of a doctor. He pounded the door, 
As many and oft-times he*d pounded of yore. 
Then: **What do you want?'* came a voice at his 
back. 



Mick turned around quickly; 'twas midnight and 

black. 
No form could he see, but 'mid splashes of rain, 
*'*Say, what do you want?" came the murmur again. 
*'Bedad, thin," says Micky, "that same is a ghost! 
''Its a foine thing for sperrits a poor man to roast! 
*'Its me lave I'll be takin' in a bit of a sthrake!" 
And the doctor lay, chuckling, a good while awake. 

It didn't take long till the secret was naught. 
Small boys bent on mischief, the knack of it caught ; 
Sometimes, when the soft arms of slumber did WTap 
The poor, tired doctor in his first, early nap, 
A shriek that in Hades most clearly had birth : 
* ' Wh— 0—0— 0—0— op'' 

Would chill him with terror and bring him to earth. 
While the wife of his bosom, convinced it was 

doom's 
Day, stood shaking in the midst of the room. 

Sometimes in the lonely midnight hour 
A soft voice tried on the tube its power: 
*'0 Doctor, we need you so very much!" 
In the gentle tone was a magic, such, 
For a second bidding there was no need, 
And away he went at his greatest speed. 

One night when 'twas cold, I've heard him tell, 
There came a violent ring at the bell. 
*'Come here to the tube!" the doctor called down. 
Repeating it twice or thrice with a frown. 
But never a sound through the tube came back. 
The doctor peered out through a moon-lit crack. 
And there, with his ear for a message ripe. 
Stood a man with his head to the rain-water pipe. 



lO 



The greatest culprit of all was the wind. 

Mournfully, gently, his tune would begin: 

'*S — 6" — ws — WJ2 — w^ — w:s — ^" 

Then, round the corner, with fuller force, 

It poured thro* the tube a wild remorse : 

'^Oo — 00 — 00 — 00 — 00 — oo'' 

And the doctor's wife cried: — "Hark! the refrain! 

" 'Tis some tortured sufE'rer in direst pain!" 

And she hastily wrapped in the clothes her head. 

And cowered and sighed in her cosy bed. 

But the wild wind cared for that not a whit, 
Nor scarce did, a moment, his moan remit : 
*Wa a — a — wa — a — a — a — wa — a 
*^ There are plagues and sorrows the wild world o'er; 
** There are tempests on sea and losses on shore! 
''Some at home shall vex you and some afar, 
''And always the world will he tronbled with zvar! 
"Wa — a — a — a — wa — a — a — a r 

Then the doctor arose in a mighty wrath, 

And skilfully tamponed the bleak wind's path. 

'^That doctor," said he, "is a silly Reube 

"Who would have in his bed-room a speaking-tube!" 

My story compels me to tell the truth : 
The doctor's heart filled with the manliest ruth ; 
He thought on his patients with tender sorrow 
And pulled the cotton out on the morrow. 



II 



WHEN MAY AND FLO WENT CALLING 

One afternoon, said Flo to May: 
*^Mamma is at her club to-day, 
I don't know anyfing to do!" 
'*My muvver's gone to her club too,'* 
Said May, ''but I don't care a cent! 
I know what's nice ! Say, Flo, let's went 
And go a-calling all around. 
Like ladies does. Some cards I found 
In Muvver's drawer. I'll wear her shawl 
And hat and dress, and take my doll." 
"Eh-heh!" said Flo; and off she flew 
To get her mother's "fixins" too. 
So, presently, when all trigged out. 
These two young persons went about 
And called at every neighbor's door. 
Pushing a card in on the floor. 
Till they exhausted the supply; 
Then home they cheerfully did hie. 
And, long before the Clubs were out, 
Forgot their freak in game and shout. 

Then, at the homes, astonishment 
Across back fences wildly went : 
''Say, Mrs. Smith, I want to tell! 
I had a call from Sara Bell 
This afternoon. I thought that she 
Was studying painting in Paris. 
Were you aware she had come back ?" 
"Why no. And Mrs. General Mack 
Was at my house to make a call. 
I thought she was in Portugal." 



12 



So Mrs. Jones and Mrs. James 
Were also puzzled over names : 
**Would you believe it? Julia Sears, 
I haven't spoken to for years, 
Was at my house and left her card. 
I threw it right out in the yard ! 
That's like her brazen impudence!" 
'*But look!" came faintly o'er the fence, 
"Here is the card of Mrs. Ball, 
I haven't called on her at all, 
And never once intended to! 
Now what, pray tell me, would you do ?" 

A little further down the street, 
In her front hall stood Mrs. Fleet; 
A card she studied in her hand ; 
(A trifle superstitious, and 
A valetudinarian she;) 
"Of what may this a token be? 
There's but one Mrs. Henry Majme: 
Three years she in her grave has lain, 
Yet here I find her card. Ah me ! 
Can this, indeed, a summons be?" 

The mothers of small May and Flo 
Alone had been neglected ; so 
They had not been among the first 
To share the afternoon's outburst. 
But when the day was at an end, 
And neighbors have an hour to spend. 
Some half-a-dozen just dropped in. 
Around the genial lamp to spin 
The newest gossip. "Is it true 
That no one called to-day on you?" 



13 



And then the story filtered out : 

On all the street, old Mrs. Stout 

Was not at Club, because that she 

Was quite chair-fast and eighty-three, 

(An honorary member tho!) 

No one had passed but May and Flo, 

Dressed out — the poppets! — -spruce and gay, 

All in their mothers' finery. 

Where were the house-maids all this while ? 

Gone to their Club with Miss De Style. 



14 



A MOCKING BIRD 

The air is full of wood-notes wild, 

And songs in quick succession 
Come clear across the flowery lawn 

With many a gay digression ; 
Now 'tis a thrush's gleeful throat, 

The bluebird's fine refrain, 
And now a merry farmer-boy 

Comes whistling down the lane. 

Anon it is a mother-hen 

Her wandering chicky calling, 
And next that hapless chicken's cry 

When into danger falling. 
And now the cat-bird's mellow note, 

And kitten's mew in pain, 
And now the merry farmer's boy 

Comes whistling down the lane. 

And strange, new songs interpolate 

'Tween call of jay and robin, 
The while you hear the deacon's cluck 

Urge on his slow-paced Dobbin. 
The pewee sad, the redbird's cheer. 

And, gladly, now again. 
We hear the merry farmer's boy 

Come whistling down the lane. 

It is my neighbor's mocking-bird ; 

genus of the tropics, 

'Tis marvelous how your repertoire 

Commands such range of topics. 
Most pleasing all ; but breathlessly, 

1 wait that bright refrain 

When, free from care, the farmer's boy 
Comes whistling down the lane. 

15 



THE HEIGHTS OF FAME 

*Tow lies the pleasant land, 
Soft are the winds that blow, the flowers fair ; 
Here pastimes speed the hours, true friendship, care. 
Dost dream of love? Dost long for affluence? 
No toiler here but earns sure competence. 
No lover here but wins sweet recompense. 
Why wander far, while bright on either hand 
Low lies the pleasant land?" 

*'Ever I see them shine: 
Sped by the breeze, the thick clouds fly apart ; 
I catch a glimpse of towers that on no chart 
Geographer hath mapped or sailor seen. 
O glint of fairy-land or charmed green 
With yon fair spires may not compare I ween ; 
And still in dreams, in visions most divine. 
Ever I see them shine!" 

"The wind-swept heights of Fame ! 
What wrackf ul waves about their bases beat ! 
What sands, with cacti-thorns, to pierce thy feet! 
Tempt not the desert waste, the ocean wild ; 
Be not by gilded domes and towers beguiled. 
The cruel ice-berg, height on height up-piled. 
But woos thee to, with a deceptory flame, 
The wind-swept heights of Fame." 

"Ever I see them shine! 
Across the edge of broken, fleeing cloud, 
There floats a dream of music ; and a crowd 
Of wandering fancies surges thro^ my breast. 
O let me die or one blest moment wrest 
Of that complete and soul-sufficing zest. 
A rapt, harmonic sound my dreams enshrine. 
Ever I see them shine." 

i6 



The wind-swept heights of Fame : 

Nor warning voice of friend, nor gibe of foe 

Hid from his eyes that beckoning, star-like glow, 

By night or day it was his spirit's goal, 

Its wafted music filled his raptured soul. 

Ever he heard its drums' reveille roll. 

Like chanting cadence sounded still that name : 

''The wind-swept heights of Fame,'' 

Bleak blew the blast, but higher yet he rose ; 
The loud, reverberant waves were hushed in snows; 
No more he heard foes' jeer nor friendly prayers. 
And they who vexed themselves with worldly cares, 
How dim, remote, inconsequent they seemed. 
But brighter, clearer, on his vision gleamed 
That heavenly light. It shone upon his thought 
And Reason to his aid her treasures brought; 
Science and Fancy led him by the hand ; 
There was no doubt in all that wind-swept land. 
Around her towers there was no fear, no shame, 
The wind-swept heights of Fame. 

Low lies the pleasant land : 

They strive for wealth, they toil for daily bread; 

Are born, grow up, in marriage they are wed ; 

They feast or fast, and finally, are dead. 

They tell of one w^ho had strange dreams and wild, 

Thoughful, distraught, was never such a child. 

He wandered off in manhood's prime and came 

To climb at last the wind-swept heights of Fame. 

But who would leave his fireside, snug and warm. 

To brave the desert and the ocean-storm? 

Fools and their ways they cannot understand. 

Low lies the pleasant land. 



17 



KEATS 



Once, when I wandered in the Land of Song, 

I came upon a lonely, sighing wight, 

Whose brow in wreath of sea-weed was bedight. 
As fain to ask him where he did belong, 
Forth from the ocean sprang a graceful throng, 

Nereid and Triton, draped in dazzling light, 

And bore him, wrapped in music, from my sight, 
Headed by him who bears the triple prong. 
Nereid and Triton with Poseidon went, 

Oread and Drj^ad joined in joyous game. 
Until they reached the ambient firmament 

And placed him, deathless, in the arms of Fame, 
World-scorned, heart-broken; ''Here lies one whose 
name 

Was writ in water ^^' reads his monument. 

II 

O Spirit, whose despite has been our shield. 
In that fair realm thou dost inhabit, say. 
Does the dear homage that to thee we pay. 

Solace and balm refreshing to thee yield? 

What time I met thee in the emerald field. 

Wandering toward Ida's height at close of day, 
Endymion, did my heart its love betray? 

Was not for thee my cold thought uncongealed ? 

With thee, my Porphyry, long, long ago, 
I stole into the love-enshrouding night; 

By old romance and all the lights that glow 
From page heraldic, still you were my Knight. 

And yet to think, this peerless heart grew slow 
And stopped, stung by the critic's venomed spite ! 

i8 



WHEN THE ELAEAGNUS BLOSSOMS 

When the elaeagnus blossoms and the wild grape 
sheds perfume, 

When the pulse of the ardent summer throbs in the 
twilight gloom, 

When the leaves are growing broader where the ma- 
ples' branches lift. 

And, pale as the ghost of winter, lies the cotton- 
wood's fleecy drift, 

Faint in the sky is the glimmer of the slender crescent 
moon 

When the elaeagnus blossoms in the early days of 
June. 

Deep is the charm of music on the hushed and listen- 
ing soul 

When tones full of wordless meanings unheld into 
silence roll; 

The beaker of rapture and sorrow fills and over- 
flows 

With the vision of all that life has been, its shadows 
and glows, 

Its hunger and passionate yearning that are ever un- 
expressed. 

When the breath of the elaeagnus spills from her 
starry crest. 

'Tis the plaint of a bloom dioecious, of a joy that is 
incomplete. 

For an answering soul that somewhere seeks its full- 
est life to meet ; 

'Tis the grief of hearts that are parted, 'tis the uni- 
versal sigh 

Crushed, or shed from a heaving breast in a lone and 
sobbing cry. 



19 



The waves of odor break on my sense as they flood 

the airy room, 
When the elaeagnus blossoms and the wild grape 

sheds perfume. 

Where, oh! where are the lost, lost loves that are 

only dream and mist? 
Where the hopes that enriched the years, which our 

lips have never kissed? 
Like wraiths from the leafy arbor, with beckoning 

finger-tips, 
They wave adieu, and the thin moon shines thro" 

robes whence the dank dew drips ; 
The ghostly phantoms troop along and sink in the 

gathering gloom, 
When the elaeagnus blossoms and the wild grape 

sheds perfume. 

When the elaeagnus blossoms — 'tis a simulant 
raceme 

Of faintest gold on a tender ground of green and 
misty gleam ; 

And the odor, like exquisite music, has power to 
make glad 

With a gladness we wot not, and grieve us for griefs 
not wholly sad ; 

The heart is steeped in the summer, folded in rap- 
turous gloom. 

When the elaeagnus blossoms and the wild grape 
sheds perfume. 



20 



THE GENII 

Once, wandering idly by the sea, 
A Dreamer sang this Song to me: 

There wait us at the Gate of Life 
The Genii of Peace and Strife. 

One will be led by willing hand 
Into a wide and fertile land. 

To one, the mountain's niggard dole 
Will scarce sustain his famished soul. 

One early hears his honored name 
Pronounced to fortune and to fame. 

The other, plodding, fain to rise, 
The goal unreached, obscurely dies. 

To one, each buffet, harshly given. 
Becomes a mail of strength, new riven. 

Another weakly bends, and fast 
Succombs before the adverse blast. 

One passes thro' the waves of death. 
Lauded his name on bated breath. 

But time and change pass swiftly o'er 
And wash each vestige from the shore. 



21 



One, of adversity the child, 
Departs, unknown, or all reviled; 

But time and circumstance proclaim 
His kinship in the realm of fame. 

And which is the greater or which less, 
He who wins not, or wins, success? 

Who make account at last with Fate, 
We or the Genii at the Gate? 



22 



LofC. 



PEACE 

"From the shores of the Baltic Sea and Black, 

May pour the bold and uncivilized Russ ; 

No truce will that torrent of wrath discuss, 
But on, like a lava-stream its track, 
On homes defenceless shall sweep the attack. 

Across the Pacific the overplus 

Of a people untamed shall deluge us 
And leave a path marked with ruin and wrack/' 
**Nay, Peace!'' cries a voice from the steppes afar, 

**Let men from the ways of oppression cease. 
From the rising sun to the evening star, 

Give to the spirit of quiet release. 
Let nations, like brothers dwell," said the Tzar, 

**The century dawn on a golden peace." 



23 



IVAN THE TERRIBLE 

Vasili Third of Russia, to his faithful wife spake he : 
* 'Twenty years have you been my spouse, yet never 

a son have we. 
Get you away to a convent; there with the Sisters 

veiled. 
Spend your days as a widow, woman whose duty has 

failed!" 
Then he wedded Helena Glinski, a Lithuanian maid, 
And the Patriarch of Jerusalem for approval prayed. 

But Mark of Jerusalem answered, "Ye do a wicked 

deed, 
And never to man who breaks God's laws, the 

Church can say God Speed! 
The earth is the Lord's, and the nations are safest in 

his care; 
Why should you stoop to sensual w^rong to furnish 

forth an heir? 
And should ye do this wicked thing, and should an 

heir be born. 
The child shall be a wicked son, accursed his birth- 
morn. 
And all the state, because of him, shall writhe and 

groan with fears, 
And every heart, before his face, with terrors and 

with tears 
Shall cleave the dust. Rivers of blood throughout 

the land shall flow, 
No one shall dwell in safety, nor aught luxurious 

grow. 
The heads of mighty men shall fall, cities be swept 

by flame. 
And all shall learn to loathe his face and curse his 

fearful name." 



24 



Vasili heard the warning words, but treated them 

with scorn ; 
His heart's desire was granted him, and so an heir 

was born. 
Sturdy and strong like his mother, fiery and wild 

and free. 
But filled with a spirit no mortal bequeathed of a 

hellish cruelty. 
From his cradle he tortured and gloated o'er the 

weak's sufferings : 
Strangled kittens, dismembered pups, and birds with 

broken wings. 
At which the savage courtiers laughed and clapped 

their hands in glee: 
"A famous warrior will be the man, a mighty leader 

her 

This was Ivan the Terrible, the heir whom his fath- 
er willed ; 

Read on the page of history the prophecy fulfilled : 

For more than half a century the land was sunk in 
gloom, 

And no man dared to lift the sword to free them 
from their doom. 

Nor age nor sex was sacred, nor honor gained re- 
ward, 

The horde most barbarous and corrupt was chosen 
as his guard. 

Whene'er his heart was weary and he would be re- 
freshed. 

He gloated on the tortures of his subjects, prison- 
meshed. 

Horrors unnameable, prolonged, and indescribable, 

Were but the daily comedy of Ivan Terrible. 



25 



Turn o'er the page; look to the west, a land ruled 
by a queen 

For more than sixty peaceful years rises upon the 
scene. 

What emperor of Salic line, however brave or fair 

His fame, can rival Britain^s Queen, with Victoria 
compare ? 

Elizabeth ? What land can point to any nobler page 

Than that which England proudly calls *'th' Eliza- 
bethan Age?" 

O Russia, vast and fertile land, your warring greed 
lay by, 

From Nicholas learn the art of peace, with gentler 
peoples vie. 

Scorn not: his fair-faced daughters, their Grandamc 
was that Queen 

Who hated war, and still for right would ever inter- 
vene. 

Her days were shortened by her grief, ('tis what her 
subjects say,) 

Because of that fell, Boer war in southern Africa. 

That war is just, in self-defence, for home and na- 
tive land. 

Or in behalf of those oppressed, or those who feebly 
stand ; 

But war aggressive — let the world place straight on 
it her ban ; 

Be this the maxim of the great, "Man may not prey 
on man." 

"Enlightenment?" Can that be light which bums 
and pillages? 

That land alone is civilized where peace and free- 
dom IS. 



26 



COLUMBIA TEACH YOUR SONS TO WAR 

Columbia, teach your sons to war, that they may 
meet th' invaders' steel 

With strength invincible, and cause cruel oppres- 
sion's power to reel. 

Let every son and daughter learn the noble art of 
self-defence, 

So peace may fold her snowy wings and dwell in 
calm omnipotence. 

Take not your strongest and your best, leaving the 

weak your race to breed. 
Degenerate shall that nation grow, unfit in thought 

and might to lead. 
Let every man a patriot be, willing and fit his part to 

bear, 
"For God, and Home, and Native Land," ready to 

stand, to do, and dare. 

Columbia, teach your sons to war, but not for for- 
eign conquest taught; 

Join hands with powers to peace inclined, 'gainst 
those with tyrant darkness fraught. 

Let nations meet for mutual good, their mutual 
wrongs to arbitrate. 

So truth shall in your borders dwell, and love shall 
conquer warring hate. 



27 



THE MESSENGER 

There is never a time of trouble or grief, 
But a messenger hastens to our relief : 

Across the plain with unslackening speed, 
He draws in the hour of our sorest need. 

Not the driving snow, nor the wind and gale, 
Shall cause his comfort and succor to fail; 

Not the blare of bugles, nor beat of drums, 
Will mark the moment the messenger comes. 

Whatever the tempest, or danger, or stress, 
Be courage and hope not a whit the less ; 

Take heart of grace, wear a smile of cheer, 
Relief is coming — is coming — is here! 



28 



PRAISE 
I 

Praise was so sweet and dear, I longed for praise ! 

I hungered for it, as the cellared leaves 

Hunger for sunshine, begging for reprieves 
From the dead darkness ; climbing stony ways 
With pale, sick searching for the golden rays. 

I took the thread which fear and flattery weaves, 

Lightly regarding that which truth bereaves. 
And deftly drew it in deception's maze. 
And all, save one, with approbation smiled: 

Save one — ^with scorn I spurned the frowning elf 
And those stern looks infamous names I styled. 

Useless my passion. Next I offered pelf, 
Hoping that by rewards she'd be beguiled. 

Vain all deceits, cajolings, — 'twas myself. 

II 

Smiles of the world what count ye if Self frowns? 

With solemn eyes I gave myself the task 

Counsel of that cold autocrat to ask. 
That monarch whose insignia all out-crowns, 
That umpire whom no honest man e'er downs. 

At that behest I doffed the smiling mask ; 

No more in the world's favor do I bask. 
Nor toss truth like a bauble among clowns. 
On every thought I call that inward eye 

To give strict judgment, and on each intent 
Put seal of justice, giving flesh the lie 

Where only greed and selfishness are blent. 
The world smiles less, but far more jocund I, 

When I and Self are, each with each, content. 



29 



Out of leaf-mold and Winter blossoms the flow- 
er the Spring, 

Out of the sere brown chrysalis, the gleam of the 
butterfly's wing; 

After the storm, the rainbow; after the night, the 
morn; 

From the depths of the soul's divine aspire the 
Poet's Song is born. 



30 



Copies of the Author's Edition of these Poems, 
with portrait and in a special binding may be se- 
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DEC. n 1904 



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